


Prompts: I love you

by Cibee (Cibeeeee)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Aurors, Breaking Up & Making Up, Drunk Draco, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22939525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cibeeeee/pseuds/Cibee
Summary: You know what's nice? Telling people I love youyou know what's even BETTER? Harry and Draco telling each other "I love you"prompted on tumblr from The way you said I love you listFeaturing: In a letter - Over a cup of tea - Loud, so everyone can hear - With a hoarse voice, under the blankets - On a sunny Tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair - From very far away - Over a beer bottle/Not said to me - When baking chocolate chip cookies - In awe, the first time you realised it - A taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 80
Kudos: 256





	1. In a letter

**Author's Note:**

> [you can find me on tumblr](https://cibeewastaken.tumblr.com/)  
> will be moving them over whenever I have time

> _I hope this letter finds you as soon as you reach your destination and not handed back to me when they ship your body back to England. You should have known by now that I am a coward, and selfish, and mean. I suppose admitting all these are inane at this point, but I am just reaffirming what we both know._
> 
> _Before you left, I thought to myself, if I knew that, and you knew that, why are we fighting over this? I thought you knew what I entailed when you kissed me._
> 
> _I thought you knew, despite my cowardness, how I always felt about you. My poor love, born only after I saw you dead by Voldemort’s feet. It is something I thought would never come to fruition, ground full of it, scattered and unwanted._
> 
> _But it wasn’t unwanted, and you gathered it unknowingly, and I wanted it to stay unknown for some time because — we’ve already established that I am a coward._
> 
> _When you left and came back and told me you took the assignment you said you wouldn’t, and as I stood, once again frozen with fear, and let you leave again, I realize as I realized on that awful day where I saw you die, nothing was scarier than losing you. It was a soft feeling. It was lovely._
> 
> _And as we had too established, I am selfish, and I thought about going home, but I couldn’t find you. I am selfish, Harry, and I want you home. Home. For no other reason than: I lov-_

Harry turned the corner to the kitchen and saw Draco sitting there. Draco jumped up at the sight of him, flushing and shocked, then scared.

“You’re back,” Draco said, his eyes bright. “You got my letter?”

“I didn’t finish it,” Harry said, angry. He slammed the letter on the table and strode to Draco. “I am not hearing it from a letter.”

Draco didn’t hesitate this time, like he was wont to. He wound his arms around Harry’s neck and held on. “I love you.”

Harry folded Draco into his arms. Closed his eyes. Voice small, he said, “You do?”

“I do. I do,” Draco said. “I’ve always had. I love you.”

The words stuck to something important inside Harry. Sticky and gooey that made Harry hard to breathe. Draco said it again, now silently, against Harry’s cheek. Harry turned his head just so, catching onto the last syllable, and met it with a kiss. 


	2. Over a cup of tea

Draco kept flowers in his home.

Not fresh ones, in a vase. Not full ones, with stems. He kept roses and roselles, globe amaranths, osmanthus, and chamomiles he plucked from his lips. Draco never bothered to pick them out before brewing tea. He much rather grumbled about them when he almost ate them. 

He placed them on the wherever near mindlessly, leaving them to dry naturally. Harry asked if he wanted them in the bin. Draco said they looked kind of nice, yeah?

They did. Clusters of red with a smattering of white and oranges. They got stuck in books, journals. The wind blew them into cupboards. They got accidentally sent with letters. Harry found them in his books, drifting into his lap when he opened them. Whenever Hermione sees that happens, she would smile and say, “Been to Draco’s, have you?”

And Harry would blush and laugh, gently picking the small flower up and placing them in a mug that was filled with Draco’s tea flowers. Sometimes when Harry was too busy to visit Draco, he would lean over and smell it, before pretending he hadn’t done that.

And on the days Harry could visit Draco — in his little house where every room was full of sunshine, Draco would smile when Harry opened the door. Draco would get up and make tea — without taking the flowers out first.

And he would drink it. And fragrant osmanthus would stick to his lips. And Harry would stare as Draco huffed and plucked the flower from his lips before placing them wherever. 

Today, Harry reached out and picked the flower from Draco’s lips for him. Draco cocked his head, prettily, and said _thank you_. Harry’s inside swelled and flared and he could almost cry from being so stupidly — happy, content, for the first time in his life, that he said _yes_ , to himself, then, _I love you_ , to Draco.

Draco’s eyes scrunched from the force of his smile, pleased and glittering. Bottom lip caught between teeth and the osmanthus somehow back onto his cheek, shining in the ever-present sunlight and he said, over their cups of flowers and tea, _I know_.


	3. Loud, so everyone can hear

Harry gripped Draco hard, trying to stop him from climbing onto the table. “Stop that,” Harry said. 

“Stop what?” Draco asked, then proceeded to swing a leg onto the rickety table.

Harry snapped a hand out to statch Draco’s ankle and pull it down, which earned him a scowl and a bite (an honest to god, teeth to skin, bite). Maybe Harry should just leave and come back to the pub in the morning with sobering potions and a schadenfreude attitude.

But Harry knew Draco would want to kill himself, then kill Harry, if he did something embarrassing, like climbing onto a table in front of mostly Gryffindors. Harry didn’t even know what was planned after Draco got up to the table.

Draco wriggled in Harry’s grasp and screamed “staff! staff brutality!” as though it was a thing among Hogwart’s teaching assistants. Though no one heard, since everyone was drunk, and the people who weren’t drunk were stuck in a similar predicament as Harry.

“Come, sweetheart,” Harry tried, because Draco was always more placid when Harry used pet names. Draco turned to Harry with wide, teary eyes and asked, “Don’t you want to hear me sing, Harry?”

And god, Draco hated his own singing voice. Harry thought it was fine, and sometimes Harry even found it nice, when it was a song Draco really liked. But Draco would never want to show his face to anyone who heard him sing, and that meant they won’t be dormmates or colleagues anymore and that would be — _no_.

“I thought you love me,” Draco said miserably.

“I do,” Harry said. “But — don’t you love me? Right now, I just want you to drink some water, can you do that for me if you love me?”

Draco reared back as though slapped. “Of course I love you!” Draco said, appalled. “Don’t you know? I would do anything for you.”

“All right,” Harry said, unexpectedly touched. “Okay. I’m going to get you a glass of water and some food. Stay here, okay?”

Draco nodded eagerly, and Harry rushed to the bar. The barmaid placed the water in front of Harry and as she was going to get some chips — she raised her eyebrows and said, “I think your honey is doing something.”

At first, Harry had no clue what she was talking about. Until he heard people around him gasped, then he abruptly realized who she was talking about.

Draco got onto the table, despite Harry’s effort, and he looked seconds from tumbling down. He stood on unsteady legs on an even more unsteady table and looked straight at Harry, “Harry Potter!” he bellowed.

Harry dropped heavily down onto a stool, resigned. 

“Harry Potter, there!” Draco said, pointing, as if people needed help finding Harry in the crowd. “He defeated Voldy-Moldy and he’s annoying and he wears two-day-old socks and he likes my singing and I love him so much! I do, I do and I love him.” Draco raised his empty hand because he forgot Harry took away his drink. “To Harry!”

The bar cheered, “To Harry!” And Draco got startled from the cheer and promptly fell from the table.

Harry rushed over to Draco, who blinked up at him. “Oh no,” Draco cried. “Did anyone see me fall?”

Harry dropped to his knees and helped Draco up, laughing widely. “No, sweetheart, no one did.” Harry kissed Draco’s nose. “Just me.”

“Oh,” Draco said. “That’s okay then.” He peered at Harry’s face carefully. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” Harry said, kissing Draco again. 

“Okay,” Draco said. “I needed you to know, that I love you, to unreachable depth.” Then Draco sighed. “I want chips.”

“I got you chips,” Harry kissed Draco again. “But let me kiss you a little more first?”

Draco tilted his face up, nodding, “only because I love you.”


	4. With a hoarse voice, under the blankets

“Have you packed?” 

Harry snorted. “What? No. The train doesn’t leave until the afternoon.”

Draco watched him from underneath the warm blankets as Harry changed into his pajamas. Where he had been hiding those, Draco never found out, and there won’t be another day of turning his dorm room upside down looking for those ratty clothes before Harry showed up for the night. Draco had imagined finding them, then hiding them again so when Harry was getting ready for bed, he would have nothing to wear, and he’d be all red and embarrassed in only his pants —

Draco sighed as Harry climbed in. The Hogwarts bed wasn’t built for two eighteen-year-old boys to fit, but Harry never minded, and he never wanted to take all the other vacant beds in Draco’s room as well. 

“It’s freezing,” Harry said, already shivering. He quickly lifted the blanket up and pressed flushed against Draco, tucking his cold hands between Draco’s thighs. “How is it still freezing? It’s June.”

“So you say every night, yet here you are again.”

“Slytherins really drew the short stick with the underwater rooms.”

“It’s not so bad,” Draco said, as Harry pressed his nose to the crook of Draco’s neck for warmth. Draco fidgeted.

“What’s wrong,” Harry said into Draco’s shoulder.

“Thinking about your unpacked room and how it offends me.”

“Shut up,” Harry laughed, wrapping his now warm hands around Draco. “Don’t think about that.”

Draco stared into the dim room. Only one single candle was still lit, and thought very hard of Harry’s messy, unpacked room. “I have to.”

“Huh?” 

“I have to think about it.”

“I … ” Harry sounded like he was trying very hard to understand so he wouldn’t sound stupid later.

Draco tightened his arms and buried his face into Harry’s shoulder as well. “I have to think about your _unpacked_ room, or else I would start thinking about your _packed_ room, and leaving Hogwarts tomorrow, and … ”

And what? Draco fell silent because he fell short of any clear idea of what came next. He thought about how he has to go to the Black townhouse his mother left him before she left the country. It wasn’t as bad as the Manor, but it was empty, and Draco was scared the loneliness would sublimate him, and no one would know.

Because he didn’t know if Harry would still be around to know. Draco disentangled from Harry and turned around. Harry’s fingers grazed Draco’s back like aftershocks. Draco sniffed, pulled the blanket over his head and sniffed again. 

Shufflings behind him. The sound of wood rolling and a murmured spell. The blanket left Draco for a second, but Harry wasn’t going to pull it away. He ducked into it and tucked the edges snugly around them. The tip of his wand a gentle light. The shadows pulled Harry’s eyelashes into trails. And it hurt, how much Draco wanted to stay here, like having his bones unexpectedly stripped away, leaving him very soft. His vision blurred, though only slightly, from the teardrops on his eyelashes.

“Would you promise me one thing?” Draco whispered.

“Yes,” Harry said. His voice was hoarse. He was trying not to cry.

“Tomorrow after we say goodbye,” Draco said, outrageously and gently. “Just for a little while, would you miss me like I would miss you?”

Harry placed the wand between them and cupped Draco’s face. Draco closed his eyes and hoped to dear Morgana his lips weren’t trembling. 

Yes, or no. Yes … or …

But then Draco heard three words when he only expected one. Draco blinked his eyes.

Harry was so close to Draco that Draco could just see his lips. They kept repeating the same thing. 

“What do you mean?” Draco asked. “What does that mean?”

“That means,” Harry said. “Tomorrow won’t be goodbye, but I’ll miss you like you’d miss me anyway.”

They weren’t getting much air under the blanket, and the wand was emitting soft heat, and Harry’s words made Draco’s inside expand to the edge of his skin, but neither of them moved.

Draco pressed his lips to the corner of Harry’s mouth, so Harry could keep whispering, with his tearless, hoarse voice, the same three — quiet — words … 


	5. On a sunny Tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair

Teddy was looking very closely at a carafe, filled with water and apple tree leaves.

Harry sat down next to him. “What’s that?”

“Sun tea,” Teddy said, resting his chin on folded arms. “For Draco.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Draco said he wanted this?”

Teddy glanced at him. “You look like Draco when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“With your eyebrows!”

Harry flushed; this was the third time today someone said that to him, and Geroge and Mrs. Weasley hadn’t gone easy one their teasing like Teddy.

“Right,” Harry mumbled. “Did Draco ask you to?”

“No,” Teddy mumbled back. “But he looks sad. So I thought this can cheer him up. Grandma said today is the perfect day to make sun tea. So I’m making sun tea for Draco.”

Harry’s heart swell. Draco did look unhappy when Harry arrived at the Burrow an hour ago. Draco insisted on coming with Andromeda, even though Harry offered to come with him. 

And nothing bad happened. Mrs. Weasley sat Draco down as soon as possible and fed him tea and cakes. Mr. Weasley asked about Draco’s charity. Teddy bounced over and demanded to be seated in Draco’s lap. Andromeda had long desisted telling Teddy not to sit in Draco’s lap. 

Draco had looked overwhelmed, paranoid. Distress written across his face as obvious as his flush. Harry hovered around the kitchen, looking on, trying to think of ways to make Draco comfortable. But before Harry could do anything, Draco had sat Teddy and made up an excuse to use the restroom. 

He couldn’t hide in there forever. When Draco came out, he offered to look over the kids and had been sitting in the backyard alone ever since. 

Teddy looked at his tea gloomily. 

“I think you need to use tea leaves, mate,” Harry said gently.

Teddy looked up at Harry wildly. “But I’m not allowed in the kitchen!” he said. 

“It’s okay. I’ll go get it, and we’ll make it together for Draco, okay?”

Harry returned with the tea leaves. Teddy insisted on adding them to the freshwater. Harry had no idea how long this was supposed to take, but Draco hadn’t smiled once since he got to the Burrow, so Harry would sit here for hours if it meant Teddy could be able to cheer Draco up.

“Why’s Draco sad, Harry?” Teddy asked, eyes still glued to the carafe. “Doesn’t he like the Burrow? Does he not like the Weasleys? Everyone liked him.”

Harry ran his fingers through Teddy’s hair. “I think,” he said, wondering if it was his place to say anything. “Draco’s not expecting the Weasleys to like him. And that makes him … nervous.”

“I don’t want Draco to be nervous,” Teddy said. “I want him to be happy, and play with me.”

“I want him to be happy too.”

Teddy looked at Harry curiously. “Uncle Ron said you used to not like Draco.”

“Yeah,” Harry said gently. “I used to. I like him now.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s changed. And he worked very hard for that. And he’s funny, and fun, and smart. And he really loves you,” Harry dropped a kiss onto Teddy’s hair. “That’s one of the most important reasons why I fell in love with him.”

Teddy nodded seriously, like he understood it perfectly. Then he said, “See, Draco? People love you!”

There were times where Harry really wished Voldemort had finished his deed, and turning around to find Draco standing there, a plate of petit fours in his hands, was one of them. Draco’s hair gleamed in the sunlight, and he was gorgeous with his lips parted slighly, looking at Harry with bright eyes. 

Harry snapped his eyes to the ground, blushing furiously. Teddy looked at the two silent men with confusion, because in his mind, loving Draco was something very natural to him. Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

Someone sat next to him. Harry opened his eyes to see Draco placing the plate on the grass, asking Teddy what he was making. Draco listened avidly, but he shifted until he was sitting sidesaddle, leaning the whole length of his body against Harry and Draco’s eyes were down, flush high, a quiet smile on his lips.

Harry dropped his eyes and grinned stupidly as well, pressing his weight back, already daydreaming about Draco resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.

Teddy talked animatedly, thrilled to finally have Draco’s attention, and Harry thought, as Draco’s pinky grazed Harry’s hand, he completely understood.


	6. From very far away

Draco had been away from England for three weeks, and Rome for two weeks when he stepped foot on Capri Island. He knew he should contact Pansy first, but he hadn’t found a payphone yet, and the magical office at Rome told Draco that none of the Capri residences were magic; uses of magic should be limited or preferably not at all. Draco privately thanked this little miracle, no owls, Floos, Apparition or Patronus was allowed! That way Pansy couldn’t be able to tell where he was from his magic, and she won’t be able to show up at his doorstep like in Rome. Draco was just relieved that she didn’t go as far as telling his location to Harry, or any of his cronies. **  
**

After Pansy showed, Draco had found a new flat the next day, leaving the old one and a note for Pansy, and didn’t leave his room until he was sure Pansy had given up and left Italy. Then Draco spent his days sitting in numerous cafés, ordering coffee after coffee, basking in the sunlight, staring at the crowd and not bothering to see anything.

And his plan at Capri was similar, except sunlight was practically nonexistent this time of year, and it was drizzling when he stepped off the ferry. When Draco looked out to the ocean, he could only just make out the outline of Italy. Faint enough to pretend it wasn’ t there, and that England wasn’t somewhere beyond that, too. 

By the time he arrived at the lodging, the sky had turned purple, and his feet ached from traveling without magic. Draco didn’t want to talk to anyone, not even a cabbie. His place was more of a villa than a flat, with ivy-wrapped pillars on the balcony, overlooking the foggy ocean and lights of houses. Draco dropped his satchel, shot a hazy spell at his feet, then fell asleep on the couch.

* * *

Little shops and narrow alleyway painted pale yellow comprised the region Draco was staying. It seemed lemons were a symbol here. There were lemon trees everywhere. Shops sold lemon themed everything: tea towels with a map of Italy and it’s various kinds of lemons (they all looked the same to Draco), plates, espresso cups, lemon tree seeds, lemon candies. Delizia al Limone and liqueur limoncello was on every menu. Draco wandered into a small shop to smell the place more than anything, but he left with a bag of candies. Instead of sitting down in a café, he found a bench by the port and allowed the fog to permeate him as he chewed on sticky, sour treats. Before going home when the sky went dark and remembered he hadn’t called Pansy. There was a payphone some distance away from the villa, Draco pushed in coins until it beeped, and he called the rarely used number.

It took a while for her to pick up, Draco suspected it was because she didn’t remember where the phone was. 

“Hello?” Pansy said through statics. 

“Hi,” Draco said, tapping up the glass walls of the phone booth. 

Pansy didn’t say anything for a beat, then, “Potter came this morning, again.”

“Did he.”

“He’s been driving me mad, just send him an owl so he’ll get off my arse, will you?”

Draco humphed, not responding to the jab. “I’m just calling to tell you I’m okay.”

“If you were okay, you wouldn’t be Morgana knows where right now!” Pansy said. “You could have just stayed with me! I could have warded my house so hard that Potter’s balls would shrivel into raisins if he even thought about coming near.”

“Your house wasn’t far enough,” Draco murmured. 

Pansy sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we all know Potter didn’t mean any harm. He’s truly incapable of it.”

“I know that, Pansy,” Draco said. “But what does it matter if he meant it or not, when he ends up hurting me anyway?”

“He’s fucking dense, that’s why!” Sounds of clacking: Pansy drumming her nails. “He didn’t realize he’d been taking you for granted.”

“I know he didn’t!” Draco snapped, really pushing down the urge to blow up this payphone so Pansy’s eardrums would burst before the line cut off. “I know I’m being stupid, and selfish, but he was back to England for a week and he _didn’t tell me_! I went home after work, every day, waiting for his owl, not even his person, just his stupid, fucking owl, to let me know he was safe and home, and not bleeding out in St Mungo’s or worse!”

“Draco — ”

“And I wouldn’t even know if _Granger_ hadn’t had the decency to tell me, so — so — ”

And so what? Draco didn’t know, so he slammed the handset back and buried his face in his hand, tears welling up, telling himself it was because Pansy was being annoying, that’s the reason. Draco fell to a crouch, ceremonially refusing to admit he was crying over stupid Potter like eleven-year-old Draco had done.

* * *

Capri’s weather didn’t let up in the following week. Draco had gotten used to walking out in a drizzle to the port and finding something to sit. Cats around the neighborhood had taken to following him because Draco put on warming charms before leaving the house. He sat by the port and chew on lemon candies until his stomach hurt. He walked back and listened to the portable radio he brought so he wouldn’t be completely lost when he decided to go back. Then he slept on the couch, the huge bed untouched still.

* * *

Draco was opening a bottle of cheap red he got from the market when the radio’s regularly scheduled program was interrupted by a special interview. Draco rolled his eyes and took a sip, sighing in content. Even cheap reds here was better than most things sold in England. The host prattled on excitedly before a throaty laugh interrupted her, and Draco stopped in his movement.

“Mr. Potter, I cannot say enough how honored we are to have you,” the host said.

Harry laughed again, an uncomfortable one, but it didn’t seem like the host could tell. Draco dropped down to the couch, sinking into the blankets and pillow, red spilling. 

“What changed? Why do you suddenly want to take up this offer?”

“I admit it’s for a selfish reason,” Harry’s voice said. Draco’s heart pounded. His limbs felt weak and tortured. There was a steadily spreading stain on his shirt. 

“And what’s the ‘selfish’ reason?” the host asked, as though they didn’t believe Harry was capable of that emotion. 

“I’m looking for someone, and I know he listens to the radio every day … ” Harry’s voice trailed off and broke near the end. There was a stretch of deep breaths. 

“Mr. Potter?” 

“Yes, sorry,” Harry said, though his voice was still hoarse. 

“Who is this person that made you take such a measure to look for? We all know how much you value your privacy.”

“He’s — was, is? My boyfriend,” Harry said. Draco wished he could see Harry’s face.

“Oh,” the host said, clearly taken off guard yet pleased they got the scoop. “So you’ve been in a relationship.”

“Yes. For a while now.” Harry went quiet. “Look, I don’t want to be rude, but I’m really not here for an interview. I just need him to know — I miss him, so much, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for being so stupid and scared and just, not realizing how much you thought of me. That’s … I didn’t think someone would care about me so much. I’m sorry — ”

The host sounded scandalized. “Mr. Potter — ”

“ — for not realizing,” Harry sniffed. Draco closed his eyes. He’d never seen Harry cry before. Draco had always been the one to tear up first and Harry would always stop whatever they were doing to hold him. Harry continued, “ — I had been using separation to run away from separation,” Harry said. “For not seeing how much ache I was causing you. For thinking that I didn’t love you so outrageously that nothing should have been big enough to scare me,” Harry sucked in a shuddering breath. “Yes, I love you. Please, I love you. Where are you?”

Draco slumped into the couch. His face dropped backward like his neck had decided to stop working. He squeezed his eyes shut at the ceiling even though there was no one here to see him cry. Across the ocean, in England, Harry was sniffling for the whole world to hear. And that did Draco in. He didn’t want Harry to cry.

Draco stumbled out of the door into the rain. Cats were hiding under his belvedere. Draco paused to cast a warming charm until they all stopped shivering. Then he went on, felt his way around the streets until he saw the tiny light in the distance.

The glass was slippery when Draco pushed it open, and he shivered, fingers gripping the phone as he pushed in coins and coins. The Wizarding Telephone Centre did not appreciate Draco’s shivering speech, but passed him along to the Wizarding Wireless Network. The employee there was even more grouchy.

“Mr. Potter is in an interview right now!” the woman said.

“Please,” Draco said. “Just ask, please? If he refuses, then hang up.”

She grumbled and muttered. Whooshing sounds signaled the memos being sent out, and Draco dropped his forehead to the glass, focusing on the rain hitting it instead of the clattering of office noise. He was in the only bright thing within miles. Capri was asleep in the dark, except for a tiny phone booth with a tiny lightbulb amidst tiny raindrops.

Then, “Uh,” she said. “Mr. Potter is here to take — ” Then sounds of the phone being wrenched away, and Harry’s frantic “sorry, sorry!”

“Harry?” Draco said, quiet. 

Then Draco could hear Harry’s shivering breaths. Surely it wasn’t cold and raining at the Wireless office. Surely Harry wasn’t coming down from bearing his heart out to everyone for the slight chance that one person would hear it. Surely Harry wasn’t holding back tears at hearing Draco’s voice, that would just be unthinkable.

“Draco,” Harry said. “Draco, it’s you. It’s you?”

“Yes,” Draco said. Then, disconcerted, “You’re not still on air, are you?”

Harry laughed. A nasally sound. “No. I don’t — I don’t know what they’re doing now.”

“Okay,” Draco said, unsure now what the next thing to say was. He hadn’t spoken a word to anyone in such a long time.

“Draco, Draco.” Harry was saying, as if he was making up for lost times. “Draco, I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, Harry,” Draco said. “I know you are, but — that doesn’t change — ”

“I know,” Harry said. “I’m really awful at this, Draco.” Miserably. “You’ve just always been there, and I really thought you’d always will, but that’s not how this works, is it? I didn’t realize I’d been doing that. I didn’t know you’ve been waiting. I was so scared of you thinking I was a burden, someone you had to make an effort to take care of. I’m terrified one day there’d just be too much you think that comes with me and decides I’m just not worth the effort.”

“There seems to be an abundance of you thinking what I thought and nothing about you actually asking me what I thought,” Draco said.

“Hermione said that too,” Harry said. “She was really angry when she found out I hadn’t told you I was back. She said not wanting you to see me recovering isn’t an excuse.”

“It’s not,” Draco blinked slowly, tiredly. 

“I was afraid you’d ask me to give up the Aurors.”

“And you know this how?” Draco said, pressing his aching eyes to the cold, gently vibrating glass. “You asked me, did you? Wrote me a little note, hm? Asked me when I was asleep and wonder if my snores are actually Morse code for ‘Quit your job and be my trophy husband’?”

Harry sounded oddly pleased when he said, “Husba — ” before Draco cut him off, 

“It’s so stupid,” Draco said, now really getting into it. He’d not said a word for the last three weeks and Harry always was the best person at getting Draco to break. “It’s one of those things I hated because everyone liked it, and as far as I could tell, this thing made people miserable than happy more often than not and then I hated it until I tried to think, maybe this thing is actually nice and there’s a _reason_ people like this — this stupid, wretched thing. So when I got over being mean and childish about it I had allowed myself to finally fall in love, and after I did I wondered, oh god, _god_ , why aren’t more people doing this?”

“Draco — ” Harry breathed. And Draco cut him off once again, 

“No, no. I understand. I’ve never said it to you as well. But can’t you understand that it’s difficult for me, more so because it’s you? Did it make any difference that it was you? Perhaps if I had fallen in love with anyone else, it would have been just love. But to me, when it was you, it scalds me. Of course it made a difference when it’s you. And it never really occurred to me what happens if I had been falling in love alone. And for someone who has been doing most things alone for most of my life, I should have really thought about it before letting myself think it was safe to do so.”

“Draco,” there Harry went again, saying his name like he was using it to cast a Patronus. “You weren’t doing it alone.”

“I know that _now_ ,” Draco said petulantly. “Found out on the radio!”

Harry laughed, and Draco knew what he was going to say, but he didn’t think his heart could take it the second time if Harry wasn’t there for Draco to fall into. And he was dangerously close from saying the words himself, like a little monster had crawled from his chest and was trying to pry his lips open. So Draco stared at the glass of the phone booth very hard, enough he’d only see the night outside, and said, wetly, “I would have never asked you to quit.”

“Draco. Draco, are you crying?”

“No,” Draco said, crying. “It’s just raining here.”

“Where’s ‘here’?”

“Not saying. I won’t have you Gryffindoring here like some … some … ”

Harry sounded like he was smiling. “Like some Gryffindor?”

“Yes, that,” Draco said lamely.

Harry started to laugh. “God, I miss you. I keep … I keep wanting to talk to you. The other day Ron wore a bright purple robe with neon pink and orange patterns — ” 

“Oh god,” Draco choked, delighted at the image. “Oh my!”

“Yes, yes!” Harry sounded so happy. “I knew you’d like it, and I just wanted to go home and tell you about it, but — ”

Draco’s laughter died down. He chewed on his bottom lip.

When Harry spoke again, his voice was soft. “I wrote it down, in a notebook. Other stuff, too. Things I saw that reminded me of you, or things I wanted to tell you. Things I knew you would get a laugh out of. I just … ”

“Harry,” Draco said. 

“I miss you,” Harry said again. “I know I messed up, can I … can we … ”

Harry sniffed. Draco felt very sad, and very cold. He could only fix one, so he cast a warming charm.

“I’ll be at home,” Harry said. His voice was getting statics.

Draco banged his knee against the glass, cursing himself for forgetting he was using a completely muggle phone. “Harry, wait — ” Draco didn’t think it was wise to use magic to fix it. He fumbled for his wallet, but his fingers were stiff from the cold and gripping the phone too hard; coins scattered across the floor. “Wait — ” 

“I’ll be,” Harry’s voice came through weakly in pieces. “Draco? I — ” 

Draco dropped the phone and crouched to snatch up a coin blindly. Even one penny would be plenty more time. When he pressed his ear back to the phone, he caught onto the last of Harry’s words, “ — home.”

The rhythmic beeps of disconnect tone continued until the payphone finally gave away. 

“Harry?” Draco said into the phone, pressing the switchhook and got nothing but silence. “Harry? Harry. Harry — ”

* * *

Draco put out some food by the door and renewed the warming charm. “I hope you all won’t get attached,” Draco said to the cats; none of them were paying him any attention. “But I shan’t be here any longer to help you. Go find someone else tomorrow. Stay dry, stay fat, and maybe I’ll see you again one day.”

He wired the rest of the rent over to the owner and left the key under the flowerpot, then he made his way back down to the port alone for the last time. Draco bought a ticket for the next ferry and sat down to wait. Then he felt a little odd sitting there with nothing but his luggage. Draco squinted up at the bright sun, and took one last look at the pale yellow walls and narrow roads before jumping up and dashing into one of the little shops. 

“Silly me, almost forgot,” Draco said to the shopkeeper as he placed a bag of lemon candies on the counter. “Souvenir.”

The shopkeeper rang up his purchase. “So you do talk.”

“Just in a good mood.” Draco grinned at her. “I’m going home.”


	7. Over a beer bottle/Not said to me

Draco’s secret to an excellent performance was to simply have the object of your loathing sitting in the audience staring unwaveringly at you while your neck and hips still ache from his mouth. Was to sit down at the piano and spent the rest of the night singing to a pub full of people who wanted to hear about love so they requested songs about love and loved how he sang about love thinking … thinking the singer must be in love, too.

Draco hadn’t thought his little talent of liking attention and ability to play and sing at the same time would be of any use. Live music in pubs was never something the wizarding world was known for before the war. But there was one day, after Harry was done with him, they stumbled into this new pub and the owner was offering the seat in front of the piano to anyone. And Draco, who had just fucked Harry earlier and had that awful moment, where he realized he had fallen in love with someone who was perfect for love while Draco was someone who didn’t deserve him… Draco had gotten up … after Harry had gotten drunk and dared him … and had sung Harry a love song … and that was that.

The pub owner offered Draco a regular time. It was some extra cash. Draco needed everything he could get. He wasn’t eligible for scholarships and he didn’t argue with the school.

Harry always showed up for Draco’s performance, even when they hadn’t met up earlier. Even when they hadn’t made plans to see each other that week. And he always ordered a bottle of beer. When Draco sang, Harry mouthed along with the lyrics, lips moving over the bottleneck. Every single time. Sometimes Draco wouldn’t move his eyes away, just to watch Harry’s lips wrap around the opening afterward.

Later, he would sit next to Harry and ask, _Potter, do you want to come over_. And Harry would say yes, unless he got some training he had to get back to at the Aurors. And Draco would ask, _then why did you come if you were busy_. And Harry would answer it with just a stare.

_If_ the answer were yes, then they would go back to his flat and Harry would fuck Draco until he wanted to sick up. Because the feeling of Harry inside of him and around him and his mouth wrapped around Draco’s like he did with the beer earlier — these were all the things Draco thought about when he sings and he felt so raw but it wasn’t like he could sick up there in bed? So he sicked it all up the next time he sat in front of the piano.

One day, Harry told him that he was getting some letters. Threatening ones that said, “I will kill you, Potter.” Draco gnawed on his lips in worry while Harry rolled his eyes, _If Voldemort didn’t manage to kill me …_ Draco replied, _maybe because lord moldy voldy didn’t try and maul you in the streets._ Harry screamed with laugher at that.

Then Harry kissed him and assured him, _don’t worry. The Aurors are bringing in suspects to-morrow. We’ll find the person soon, yeah? Don’t look so worried._

Then the next day Draco was tackled and bound and thrown into an interrogation room. The Aurors were positive that Draco was _the one_ (They said it as though they were talking about love. _He’s the one_.) And when Draco asked why they think it was him they laughed and pointed at the “Potter” written on the letter, said everyone knows about Draco’s “Potter.”

But Draco had always written _Harry_ in his letters. He made it out to _Harry_ since he was eleven and daydreamed about being his friend. He called Harry _Harry_ in his head. He said _Harry_ soundlessly in bed and _Potter_ out loud in front of people.

“I didn’t threaten him,” Draco told them. One of them held up a warrant and the other held up a vial. Someone was banging on the oneway glass behind Draco as Draco said again, “I didn’t threaten him.”

But they gripped Draco’s nape like he was a dog and pinched his nose and shove the vial into Draco’s mouth. His teeth clanged painfully against the glass.

“Are you the one behind these letters?” They asked.

“No,” Draco answered.

The Aurors looked shocked. Genuinely shocked. They had used Veritaserum because they truly believed Draco would want Harry dead. They did not ask the question but it was hanging in the air and the potion compelled Draco to answer.

“Because I’m in love with him,” Draco said. “Yes, I’m in love with him —”

The door to the room blasted open and there Harry was, face red and angry, still in his training uniform, glaring at the Aurors.

“I’ve told you it wasn’t him,” Harry said. He was next to Draco and spelling him free before anyone could react. Draco’s heart shuttered as he realized Harry was the one pounding on the glass, and that he heard everything.

Harry’s arms wrapped around Draco even tighter than the Aurors’ _Incarcerous_. He pressed his lips to Draco’s cheek, hard, and said, “If I had known,” he kissed the corner of Draco’s mouth. “If I had known, I wouldn’t be saying it when you sing. I wouldn’t have said it with all the ‘I love you’s in the lyrics. I would’ve said it to you somewhere quiet.”

Draco pressed his cheek to Harry’s shoulder, then buried his whole face into the crook of Harry’s neck because he remembered there were people looking at them.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Draco said. “I don’t ever want to hurt you. I would have build you a home and let you live in it with someone else if you wanted. I would have kept singing you love songs …”

Harry made a soothing noise, pressed his lips to Draco’s temple. “Draco,” Harry said. “You’re under Veritaserum. I don’t want you to regret this later. I want you to tell me this when there isn’t potion in you.”

Harry’s mouth moved along Draco’s face, silently telling Draco that he was taking him home. That he wouldn’t let them do anything to Draco. Draco nodded, pressing in more.

Though it should be worth mentioning, neither Draco nor Harry knew that — once its purpose got served — Ministry Veritaserum loses its effect.


	8. When baking chocolate chip cookies

“I wouldn’t be able to bake cookies?” Draco said into the mixing bowl. “And who was top of the class in Potions, hmm? Who is the one that brews all the potions in his house? All the bruise salve? All the lube that he likes so much? Who!”

Grimmauld Place creaked unpleasantly around Draco. The cupboard flapped its door as if to say _You know he isn’t here, right?_

“He is going to be incredibly fazed when he gets home and see me in front of a plate of perfectly baked chocolate chip cookies, you’ll see,” Draco told the cupboard, then spent the next twenty minutes daydreaming about how things will go when Harry gets back. Until he realized he had poured too much flour into the mixing bowl and was now poking at a dry lump instead of … mixing it.

“Well,” Draco said. “Well, that’s what milk is for.” And he poured a generous amount of milk and started furiously lobbing at the mixture, all the while demanding it tasted like the best chocolate chip cookies that ever graced the world because he was not going to be outdone by his boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend who apparently can bake wonderful chocolate chip cookies—!

“And he has the audacity!” Draco complained to the lump. “To say that it’s okay that I can’t bake! As though he knows what I can and cannot do! Fuck off!”

Draco took the dough out and tried to flatten it, but it was gross and soggy and somehow sticky at the same time. Draco looked at it in equal parts confusion and annoyance.

“You are obviously the problem,” Draco told the dough. “It couldn’t have been me.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s you, whatever you’re talking about.”

For a heart-stopping moment Draco thought he lump of dough was talking back, until a pair of arms wrapped around Draco’s waist. Draco yelped and slapped his wet, sticky hands over them.

“Ugh,” Harry said, pulling his arms back. “What the hell is that?”

“Chocolate chips cookies,” Draco said.

“When I give you the keys to my house, I thought you would come over and prank me,” Harry said. “I don’t think I expected this.”

Draco threw his arms up. “Yes! I’m sorry I’m not well-versed in the art of chocolate fucking cookies! Not like Ginevra!”

“What?” Harry said, not bother to vanish the mess on his arms (which was starting to mat with the hair there, Draco noticed with horror, even though he was the one that put it there). “Is this about the cookies we had last week? She barely baked it! It was from a pre-mixed box! From Tesco!”

“You said I couldn’t bake!” Draco said, a tad defensively.

“Draco, you don’t use the kitchen for anything other than tea,” Harry deadpanned. “Even then, you have me make the tea more often than not.”

“Yes, I get it. I’m a terrible boyfriend,” Draco turned to hit the squishy lump with a wooden spoon.

Harry sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”

Draco put down the spoon. Miserable. “I know,” he said. “I just … I just wanted to bake you cookies.”

Harry gently turned Draco over and hugged him, pressing Draco’s face to Harry’s shoulder. “Coming home to you is already pretty great.”

“Sap,” Draco said. He tangled his hands in Harry’s hair, rubbing sweet clumps of dough into his hair. “Let me clean these off in your hair. I doubt anyone would notice any difference anyway.”

Harry pulled away, swatting Draco’s hands. “Twat.” Harry grinned at him, eyes scrunching up. “It’s ridiculous how much I love you.”

Draco stuck his sticky fingers back into Harry’s hair again, because he knew it’d hurt if Harry tried to run away. “What?”

“Oh,” Harry said. Eyes wide. “Oh, I didn’t… I mean … I have plans on how I’d tell you.” Harry went silent, looking at Draco. “Is it—is it okay? That I love you?”

Draco’s fingers found Harry’s mouth. Pressed against his lips. Rubbing sugar and milk across it.

“Nothing could be more ‘okay’,” Draco said, kissed Harry. Harry laughed into it, arms coming around Draco again. They stumbled and crashed into a chair. Harry held onto Draco and dragged him into his lap as they dropped into it. Draco pulled back, making a sound between a moan and a sigh and an ‘ah’. Harry kissed him again.

“I love you just a little bit,” Draco said into the space between kisses. “Infinitesimally, really.”

Harry chuckled. “Microscopically?” he said.

“Yes, a minuscule love, if you will.”

“Teeny-weeny love,” Harry said.

Draco climbed off of Harry’s lap while Harry screeched with laughter, clinging to Draco’s left leg. “I changed my mind. I do not love you one bit. I despise you,” Draco said.

“Of course you do,” Harry said, lovingly. And it was only out of pity that made Draco climb back into Harry’s arm. Just pity. Nothing else. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders and let them twined, loosely. All out of a sense of charity, nothing more. He told himself all this, though as Draco kissed Harry softly, body placid against Harry, Draco knew he was poised on the edge of losing.

“I love you so much,” Harry said against Draco’s mouth. “I love your chocolate chips cookies. Let’s go to Tesco and kiss in the baking aisle. And we’ll come back and bake cookies together.”

“Oh,” Draco said, and knew he’d lost. “Oh, Fuck You. I love you so much—” Draco kissed Harry, unyielding. “Let me bake you cookies. I want to make sweets for you. Let me, let me—”

Harry kissed him, nodding. His teeth scraped Draco as he did. Draco should be crying at how lucky he got, that someone fell in love with the misbegotten shapes that was Draco, haphazardly squeezed together like that disgusting dough on the counter. And perhaps those cookies could be salvaged, with some patience and magic and zealous; just one good reason to want to be good. Draco knew that was possible, more so than anyone: he fell in love with his reason, after all.


	9. In awe, the first time you realised it

1.

Happy thoughts, the healer said to Harry before she left. Auror Malfoy might wake up today.

But it had been three weeks. Draco had gone from critical condition to flat-lined to breathing again to stable. Now he was just sleeping. Convalescing. Torturing Harry, even when he wasn’t conscious.

Draco had been his partner for years. Somehow, the years after the war had been mild. There weren’t a lot of skirmishes like Harry had thought there would be. There hadn’t been a lot of criminals willing to fling curses when they had the option to run. 

Harry didn’t realize someone had their wand pointed at him until Draco slammed them both to the ground. Until Harry had Draco in his arms as he gasped, blood in his mouth, answering Harry’s _why the fuck why would you how could you_ with a gurgle of “I couldn’t— I couldn’t let you—”

Harry never sat in the visitor’s chair before. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do besides holding Draco’s hand, just in case Draco was aware of his surroundings. Harry didn’t want him to think that no one cared. 

The fear: Draco doesn’t wake up today. The worst fear: Draco never wakes up. The solution: Harry finds a way to wake him up. The possibility: There was no cure. Though, did it matter? Harry wasn’t planning on stopping even if it was impossible.

Harry gripped Draco’s hands tighter. Hermione sent an owl, asked him to come for dinner. _It’s not healthy, just staying there_ , she wrote. _I won’t stop you from going back, but —_

But Draco would be here alone, and he could wake up, and he would wake up alone. Harry was _not_ going to let him wake up alone — 

Alone was what Harry was afraid of. If Draco was gone, he would have taken a part of Harry with him. The small and vital part. Hermione once told him that even love cast shadow — 

Harry’s fingers stopped where they were, in the middle of brushing Draco’s hair away from his face (Draco hated when his hair got into his eyes). Draco’s lashes cast shadows just below his eyes. Harry wanted to cry and felt very, very stupid.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh.”

Harry dropped his head between his arms, one breath in with terror and one breath out in veneration. He never thought love could bring you equal parts the worst and the best.

“You have to wake up,” Harry said, kissing Draco’s knuckles. “You have to wake up so I can let you know that … you have me. You would get a kick out of it.”

Draco didn’t open his eyes and smile at Harry. He didn’t even twitch. Harry left his lips on Draco’s hands.

His breathing steady in the hospital room, on mute.

2.

Draco fantasized about saving Harry Potter many times. He would spend the dizzy moments before falling asleep daydreaming about it. He could spend hours in the bath because he was thinking about it. It always went, for Draco’s standard, perfectly. In his head, Draco would expertly disperse whatever nefarious attempts people would try on Potter. “Wow!” Potter would say. “You saved me!” And Draco, who would suffer just enough injury for Potter to fuss over, could then flip his cloak and reply: “Don’t mention it.”

But then Potter would mention it, over and over, because this was Draco’s fantasy and he liked to imagine Potter talking about him. He liked to think about Potter holding his hands and sobbing big tears, asking Draco to never leave him.

“I would never,” Draco said in his head. “I’m not stupid! I won’t dive in front of you and get hit myself. That wouldn’t be smooth.” And not being smooth in front of the person you like was peak nightmare for Draco.

So when Draco startled awake, he was horrified to feel wetness at the corners of his mouth, and contemplated suicide when he saw Potter next. 

Potter started shouting and yelling and laughing and Draco tried to subtly wipe the drool away when the healers came in. They asked how he was feeling and Draco screeched something about taking care of patient hygiene and Potter was still somewhere in the room, laughing like mad.

“He’s okay, right?” Potter asked in between grins and laughs. “God. He’s—”

Draco was busy fixing his hair and blasting cleaning charm all over his body when Potter settled by his bed again. Draco couldn’t bear looking at him. Image completely ruined and all. 

“You fucking turd,” Potter was saying. “You arse, wanker, twat, knobhead, moron, idiot, reckless fool, Gryffindor—”

Draco whipped his head around to hiss, “You take that back!”

“Promise you will never do that again,” Harry said. 

Draco examined his nails. “I will do it better next time.”

“Promise.” Harry’s voice sounded wretched.

“No!”

“Draco.”

When Draco turned to deliver another one of his scathing replies, he didn’t. Harry’s lips were melting on his. His breathing slow, like this didn’t scare him one bit. His hands went to Draco’s neck, fingers light on his pulse, making sure it was there. His words, those three words, soft into Draco’s cheek. Draco’s flush spread from underneath the words.

“That’s,” Draco started, voice thick. “That’s embarrassing for you, Potter. You know I will never let this go.”

Harry chuckled, voice rough from all the wild laughter earlier: “Thank god.”


	10. A taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips

“Good grief!” Malfoy said when he sauntered ( _sauntered_ , who the fuck actually bothered to ever _saunter_?) into the room. “So it’s true.”

“Don’t you have some hospital gowns to be washing, Malfoy?” Ron asked.

“Don’t you have errands to run for some _real_ Aurors?” Malfoy retorted as he came to a stop next to them. “So, what is it this time.”

“I was cursed!” Harry said as indignantly as he could while immobilized. 

“What else is new,” Malfoy said.

Ron looked sympathetic. “You are the only Auror trainee that actually gets cursed. Sucks to be you, mate.”

“Why bother feeling bad? It’s probably like a spa treatment for him at this point,” Malfoy sat down next to Harry on the bed. Malfoy claimed it was only because he refused to sit in St Mungo’s visitor’s chair. Harry had made a joke about Malfoy’s sensitive arse the first time, and had spent the remaining hour blushing like an idiot, while also thinking about Malfoy’s arse and how sensitive it could be. 

“Wanker,” Harry said, but he was grinning. Getting sent to St Mungo’s had become less and less of a nightmare each time, because Malfoy would always find some excuse to slip away from his own Healer apprenticeship and “hang out” (Harry’s words), or “make fun of Saint Potter” (Malfoy’s words). Now three years into each of their training, Harry hadn’t stopped being sent to St Mungo’s and Malfoy still hadn’t stopped coming. 

“What’s the curse?” Malfoy asked, using this chance to poke at Harry’s waist and make him yelp in a very unattractive way. 

“That’s not fair. I can’t move!” Harry said.

“Some girl cursed him to stay like this until someone confesses their true love to him. She thought she would be the one.”

“You should see her face when she realized her confession didn’t work,” Harry said.

“Yeah, because true love means cursing the person you love,” Malfoy said sarcastically. 

Harry laughed his awkward laughter. He wanted to say something like, “I want to hex you all the time but I’m also in love with your rude and sensitive arse.” But he was sure that wouldn’t go down well. 

And it wasn’t like he really wanted to hex Malfoy, it’s just the only option Harry had beside the other … more … pleasurable one … . 

Ron laughed at something Malfoy said and Harry realized he had zoned out thinking about kissing Malfoy (again). 

“What?” Harry asked.

“I was just saying it’s funny that she cursed you to sit like a princess as you wait for someone to confess their undying love to you,” Malfoy smirked. “Truly a masterpiece. You should get your portrait done in the meantime and hang it in Hogwarts.” 

Malfoy was right. Harry was cursed to sit looking like a traditional princess: legs slanted together at an angle, ankles crossed. Hands folded together in his lap. It was the most uncomfortable position Harry ever had to endure. 

“I feel sorry for princesses,” Harry said. “I think I’m going to die from muscle cramps.”

“Keep this up and you’ll take away Malfoy’s Drama Queen title,” Ron said. 

It showed how much Malfoy grew that he only snorted and said, “He couldn’t take that from me even if he becomes a real princess.” Then a grin stretched his face. “Let’s put a crown on him, Weasel.” 

“I already shoved some chocolate frogs down his shirt,” Ron said, (“Oh my god, is that what it was?” Harry said) He kicked his feet up onto the bed and let his head hung back, closing his eyes. “Keep up, Ferret.”

Malfoy waved his wand and conjured a silver crown filled with various green gemstones that Harry had no hopes of naming. Harry grunted when it was placed on his head. 

“This crown is fucking heavy,” Harry said.

“It’s a coronet, you imbecile,” Malfoy said, taking a step back. His face went still, then very red. Harry glared at him. 

“Go on, make your little jokes,” Harry said, doing his best to look stern. “See if I come hang out with you anymore.”

Malfoy squeaked. His face now red to the point where Harry was starting to worry. 

“Ron, is Malfoy about to pass out?” Harry asked. “It’ll probably not look good if a Healer in training passed out.”

Ron opened one eye. “Nah,” he said. “He just short-circuited. He’ll be back in a few seconds.”

“Huh?” Harry said. 

“Shut it, Weasley,” Malfoy hissed. “Isn’t anyone going to break this stupid curse! What are the Healers doing! Just! Letting him sit there looking like that!”

“You’re the one that put the crown on him, mate,” Ron said. 

Malfoy seemed to shook himself out of it. His snotty expression came back, although somewhat wobbly. “Weasley, you can do it.”

“It has to be romantic love,” Ron said. Harry blushed.

“Then say it romantically,” Malfoy said. He looked down to Harry, the beginning of a grin at the corner of his lips. “Just say, ‘Harry Potter, I love you for who you are. Truly, I love—’”

Harry kicked out a leg and landed right on Malfoy’s shin. “Shut it!” 

Malfoy hopped back. His mouth agape. Face very, very white. Harry looked from his face to his shin apprehensively. 

“I didn’t kick you that hard, did I?” Harry asked.

“No,” Malfoy said. His face edged with disbelief. “No, I don’t—I do not lov—I just—” 

Worried, Harry turned to Ron for support, only to find him also in shock. 

“I mean, I knew,” Ron stuttered. “I knew you had a crush, but I never thought—” 

Harry turned back in time to see Malfoy stumbled out of the room with his eyes on the ground. The door slammed shut behind him. Harry stared. 

“What the fuck?” Harry said. A little hurt that Malfoy just left like that.

“Harry,” Ron said, sounding very pained. “Please tell me you got what just happened.”

“No!” Harry jumped up, upset. “I was just joking with him! We play-hit each other all the time!”

Ron groaned. “Harry. The curse is broken.”

Harry went still. He looked down to find himself standing in a decidedly non-princess manner. 

“Oh,” Harry said. He looked at Ron, then to the coronet (now on the floor), finally to the door. “Oh, my god.”

“Why are you still here!” Ron yelled at him. “Malfoy is probably halfway to Spain by now!”

Harry jumped to action. His legs—unsurprisingly—ached from the abuse that was the princess sit and he stumbled the best he could after Malfoy.

“Malfoy!” Harry shouted, not caring that this was a hospital. People turned to glare at him and that just made him run (away) faster. “Malfoy, you bastard!”

Harry spotted him quick enough, stuck in a crowd of visitors. Malfoy glanced back, panic clear in his expression, and Harry whipped out his wand. 

“ _Accio_!” Harry shouted. 

Malfoy squawked as his body lurched back, crashing into Harry. Harry spun them to lessen the momentum and they both stumbled to a stop. Malfoy glared up. Harry tightened his arms, heart pounding. 

“Did you just _summoned_ me?” Malfoy said. “The insolence! My goodness!”

Harry could tell that Malfoy was gearing up for a full-blown strop, so Harry blurted out the only thing that was on his mind.

Malfoy reared back, staring at Harry with wide eyes. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “You didn’t hear it wrong. I love you.”

“If this is your idea of getting back for the crown—” Malfoy started. 

“It’s a coronet,” Harry said, and kissed him. 

Malfoy jerked in Harry’s arms, then melted into it with a moan that dissolved all of Harry’s past and future resolve. Simply obliterated it. There was nothing in this world that could keep Harry from Malfoy’s mouth anymore—just nothing—Malfoy cradled Harry’s jaw, no doubt feeling the way it moved as Harry worked his tongue into Malfoy’s mouth—they will just have to die like this— 

They were thrown out of St. Mungo’s for indecent behavior not long after, and years afterward from that day, Ron would retell that story with absolute merriment at the Potter-Malfoy wedding, much to the guests’ delight and the grooms’ mortification. Not that it stopped them from making out in the storage room and getting caught by Mr. Weasley a few hours later. All was well.


End file.
